


Honey and the Bee

by vodkamutiny (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Groping, Seizures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 16:50:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/vodkamutiny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes when the two of you are alone and Mituna is calm, he’s almost like his old self. Almost, though. It's never the same. He’s always spouting out babble and curses and vulgar phrases that you’re used to but other people aren’t, putting up a front, fooling around. But when it’s just you and him, tangled up in each other’s arms with his head against your shoulder and your lips against his forehead, it's almost like the accident never happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honey and the Bee

**Author's Note:**

> what is this

Sometimes when the two of you are alone and Mituna is calm, he’s almost like his old self. Almost, though. It's never the same. He’s always spouting out babble and curses and vulgar phrases that you’re used to but other people aren’t, putting up a front, fooling around. But when it’s just you and him, tangled up in each other’s arms with his head against your shoulder and your lips against his forehead, it's almost like he's...calm.

You stroke back his wild, dandelion-soft hair, running your fingers over the crisscrossing red and blue scars that wind over his forehead and around his eyes. He shivers slightly and blinks up at you, like a lost little grub. You guess he kind of is a lost grub. Everything he once knew, everyone he once knew…its all changed and you can’t help but feel so painfully awful about it that your insides constrict and your throat closes up and you have to struggle not to cry.

“Tula.” He mutters, wrapping his wiry arms around your back.

“Hm?”

“I love you.” His mismatched eyes lift up to meet yours, and you know he means it. “I love you too, babe.” You whisper, kissing his scars and holding him close and wishing you could breathe in his scent. The scent you memorized long ago; honeycombs and electricity and the slightest hint of tansies. He was your favorite smell.

“I’m thorry.” He suddenly says. You look down at him and slide your fingertip down his jawline. “For what?”

“For…thith! Thith bucktmunhcing SHIT you h-have to put up with! I’m a fuckin-"

“Don’t say it.” You shush him, the tightness in your throat constricting your words.

“A…sksjdkjfskFUCKCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!!!!!” He cries out and you pull away as he starts twitching and spasming (he never likes for you to touch him when he's like this), letting out choked whimpers while he curses about his head hurting. Finally he stills, and you quietly ask if he’s okay now.

He lets out a low whine, crawls closer, and sobs into your chest.

When he finally calms down, you have to practically pick him up to get him to the ablution block, even though he’s much taller than you and heavy for his skinny frame. He just slumps limply into you, sniffling occasionally. You sit him down at the edge of the tub and soak a washcloth with warm water. He whines your name, over and over.

You kneel in front of him, smoothing back his hair and whispering soothingly to him as you wipe away the tears and snot from his face, kissing him softly when you’re done. “I’m thorry.” He says again. “It’s okay, baby.” You assure him and start pulling off his clothes.

You have to run the water fairly cool and only a couple inches high, cause he’ll flip out if you let it fill up any higher. He sits still while you rub circles over his back with the bar soap and then rinse it off, his face buried into your breasts because you know he likes it.

“You’re tho…fuckin' thoftt…” He says, voice muffled into your shirt. You laugh a little and scrub your hand through his hair. “That’s what you like, isn’t it?”

“Fu-ck yeah. I could have myy head in thethe all day…”

You roll your eyes and reach an arm out to give his ass a squeeze. He jumps, before he starts giggling and nuzzles closer to you. “I've got the...the _thexietht_ matethprit in the world."

“So do I." You respond, and he snorts, butting his nose against your collarbone.

Minutes later, when he tugs on your arm as signal that he’s ready to get out, you lift him over the edge and wrap his frail, bruised body in towels and dry off his hair. You’re just about to pull his nightshirt over his head when he suddenly grabs you and kisses you.

He’s not good as it as he used to be, but you know he’s trying and that makes it better. His hands glide over your hips and he pulls you close, tracing his tongue over your teeth. You lean into him, letting yourself be hugged and kissed and groped all he wants. And it would be a lie to say you don't enjoy it. Words didn’t come easy to him, so he just settles on touching you to get his point across.

“Take off your clotheth.” He finally grunts.

You sigh and start tugging off your soaking wet suit. The instant it’s off, he’s on you all over again, though this time he’s planting sloppy kisses all down your neck and shoulders. You slip a pair of old shorts into his hands, and he starts fumbling with them to get them on you. It’s a daily ritual that you think makes him feel better about you caring for him 24/7, and even though he struggles, the proud look on his face once he’s done dressing you makes it all worth it.

When your shirt’s finally over your head, he pulls back to look at you. “I love you…tho much, it fuckin' HURTH me.” His voice is soft and he slides his fingers through your hair and kisses your forehead and your lips and your nose and your cheeks. You smile, and repeat his sentiments.

The two of you head back to your respiteblock, and you boost him up into the ‘coon, where he waits for you to climb in with his arms outstretched. When you do, he holds you against him and plants a kiss on top of your head.

“Thank you, 'Tula.”

“No problemo, 'Tuna.”


End file.
